


Shine Your Light On Me, Baby

by oneforyourfire



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, MAMA AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 05:51:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7702999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baekhyun is too dazzling and overwhelming and ethereal and arresting, even like this—probably <i>especially</i> like this. (vague mama au w/ frottage)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shine Your Light On Me, Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [e2x2o](https://archiveofourown.org/users/e2x2o/gifts).



> for rand, happy one year anniversary + 6 days

Baekhyun presses him bodily, breathlessly into his rickety mattress, and Jongdae’s entire body crackles sharply with desire. Electric and hot and utterly devastating, it courses heavy and racing through his veins, and his trembling fingers twist into Baekhyun's hair, heaving throat rolls back in lazy, desperate, desperate invitation. Clawing at soft, pale shoulders, dark hair, Jongdae tugs him closer, tugs him harder, tugs him more. 

And _fuck_ , Baekhyun's skin feels like kisses of sunlight, ruined moans taste like stars dying. He’s bright and radiant and utterly blinding and everything Jongdae needs, and Jongdae so often loses himself in Baekhyun, blinded and overcome. He does now, too, is now, too, feels swallowed whole by Baekhyun’s splendor and radiance. And he wants even more, more, more. 

Baekhyun is too dazzling and overwhelming and ethereal and arresting, even like this—probably _especially_ like this. He’s Jongdae’s stolen sunshine, his pilfered fire, haloed golden and gorgeous in the sun’s fading light, looming over Jongdae with his disheveled hair and glimmering eyes and bruised, parted lips. 

Jongdae’s fingers scramble forward to touch him, sliding down the definition of his shoulders, over the tapered solidity of his waist. He’s soft and firm and warm and _his_ , his to love and touch and kiss and taste and want and take and take and take, Baekhyun’s _promised_. 

Baekhyun arches back into his touch, then rocks forward into his body, and there are explosions of light and heat and color, beneath Jongdae’s skin, in the centimeters of charged air between their quivering bodies, in the darkening sky outside their window. 

And oh God, it’s cosmic and natural and meant to be—this dizzying, dazzling thing between them both, the glide of pale smooth skin against his, the distinct and hot pressure of Baekhyun’s cock against his own, the soft ruin of Baekhyun’s breathing at his throat. 

Jongdae drags him closer, as close as possible, naked, aching skin catching on naked, aching skin, heat on heat, desire on desire, and Baekhyun groans heavily, shifts atop to press fully against him. The drag is dry, rough, maybe even painful, but Baekhyun smells like sunshine, tastes like starlight, feels like warmth and love and light light light with his teeth at Jongdae’s throat and his pulse racing against Jongdae’s own. And Jongdae’s always aches for more. More friction, more warmth, more affection, more of this, Jesus, Baekhyun, never fucking stop.

Baekhyun’s body trembles beneath Jongdae’s palms, muscles rippling as he presses forward. Once, twice, thrice, sinuous and fucking perfect. He’s fucking perfect. And Jongdae hasn’t had his fill, of touching, of kissing, of tasting, of wanting, of taking, of utterly _ruining_ —ruining first, ruining more. 

Jongdae digs his fingernails into the swell of Baekhyun’s ass, kneads at the muscle there, and Baekhyun sputters around a whimper, Baekhyun’s cock jerking, the room flickering violently in surprise. 

Scrambling for control, trying to ruin, too, Baekhyun’s fingers—deceptively delicate—wrap darkly around Jongdae’s wrists, and Jongdae lets himself be pinned, squeezes hard at his fingers as Baekhyun kisses his way across his cheekbones, his throat, his collarbone. Tender, heated, wet, utterly disarming as he rocks into him, smooth and slow—just this side of too much to bear. He leaves Jongdae nearly delirious with pleasure. Ruined, for a moment. But not more. At least, not yet. 

And it isn’t the first time, the third time, the tenth, but Jongdae skin is still so excruciatingly sensitized, his body still so fucking affected and _starved_ every time Baekhyun touches him. Jongdae heats and burns, glows all over, wherever Baekhyun’s skin meets his own. 

Electricity crackles between them, quivers through Jongdae’s limbs, scars the sky brilliant and angry and white. And Jongdae needs. Oh God, he fucking _needs_ , blunt fingernails clawing at Baekhyun’s wrists as Baekhyun grinds forward, hot and heavy and heaving—still too, too much. For them both. 

Demanding need jolts up his spine, and he pushes up, back. Firm, forceful, fervent, faster. 

Baekhyun’s arms tremble near Jongdae’s shoulders, fingers tremble around Jongdae’s wrists, teeth graze the jut of Jongdae’s sternum. He moans brokenly into Jongdae’s skin—ruined, ruining—and twists, pulsing, hot, hard, hard, hard, dragging just _so_ , and the pleasure zips up Jongdae’s spine. Jongdae moans, too, broken and breathy, bucking upwards, seeking out more delicious, deliberate, _direct_ friction. _Demanding_ it.

“Baekhyun,” he groans, and Baekhyun laughs. It’s strained, disbelieving, high and pitchy with arousal. And Jongdae wishes his lips were close enough for him to taste it. Wants it like he wants everything else that Baekhyun is and does and has, he’s _promised_.

Baekhyun is always, always what he wants. And he thinks sometimes, in his darker, rawer moments, in the throes of passion, in the throes of jealousy, of claiming Baekhyun in some elemental, brutal, lasting, awful way. Of searing him, scarring him maybe with his love, ruining him with his touch, letting the violent desperate ferocity of his desire explode through him. Thinks of letting the twisted shell of his need tear at the sky, tear at any potential lovers that dare take this heady rush, beautiful thing from him. Wants to love Baekhyun in scarred and ravaged landscapes, love him with the acrid smoke of broken trees and charred fields, love as his need screams at him to love. Love him as he had loved before he’d learned better. 

Jongdae reverts, in these moments, these dizzying, heady, excruciating moments with Baekhyun, into the ugly, dark, dangerous thing that he’d been when they’d found each other, both lost and lonely, searching desperately for someone that understood, someone that wouldn’t hurt, or at least wouldn’t break. And there’d been destruction in Baekhyun then, too, an untempered Baekhyun, too much heat, too much light. He’d swallowed lovers whole, too, broken people that he’d loved too, but not nearly as much, not nearly as deep, not nearly as many. 

And Baekhyun wouldn’t bear it either, Jongdae knows, wouldn’t survive it. Shouldn’t have to just for the sake of indulging Jongdae’s reckless, possessive desire. 

Jongdae tempers it. Has learned better. Learned to love softer. 

And though potent, the ferocity is brief, dissipates with more of Baekhyun’s sun-kissed skin, supernova moans, his blinding white hot hot hot kisses and touches. They warm him and disarm and have him once more clambering and clamoring for more. 

He wants it. No, he needs it. 

Baekhyun collapses fully onto him, his hair in his eyes, his eyes hot and dark, his soft skin raised and kissed golden, flushed red, bruised purple and blue in all the places that Jongdae had scrambled to take and claim and mark. Too hard. Too much. Even if Baekhyun thinks these scars, these bruises are beautiful, mean that Baekhyun was loved hard and thorough and real. Just as real as Baekhyun loves him. 

Jongdae, though, he was _meant_ to love him, meant to touch and kiss and taste and want and take take take from Baekhyun—only. They were meant to find each other. Jongdae was meant to spark and sizzle and burn for this love.

It’s electric and instinctual and hot and desperate and heavy, this hot perfect thing that sizzles between them. Thunder rumbles so hard, he can feel it in his bones, lightning flashes so bright, so close, his skin prickles. And Baekhyun is radiating light, radiating heat, radiant and wrecked with desire, too. 

Baekhyun shines so bright like this, and Jongdae feels jealous and greedy for more light, wants it to stain him and drown him, wants it to become a part of him, make him so bright, so dazzling that it casts away the shadows of doubt and despair. 

“Hey,” Baekhyun says, and his voice is frayed and his eyes are glowing and his lips are soft and pink and bruised. And oh, Jongdae can't look away though it hurts to look at him directly, though it feels like squinting helplessly at the splendor of the naked sun. 

 

Overcome, Jongdae wants—no, _needs_ to be bathed in it, stained with the residual glow of it. Wants to be so bright that everyone knows to whom he belongs, knows that no one else can bear to look at him from the brilliance of his shine either. 

It terrifies him. It undoes him. It ruins him. 

Baekhyun bites his lip as he smiles at him breathlessly, breathtakingly, and desire pulses through Jongdae once more, sharp, jagged, and raw. Almost violent. Almost too much. 

"Hey,” Baekhyun repeats, and his fingers are on Jongdae’s jawline, delicate and cradling and warm, urging his gaze upwards. There's warmth there, love, need glimmering in his impossibly dark eyes. He's still haloed in light, an angel, and his.

“Hey,” Jongdae manages, and Baekhyun laughs, forehead crashing against his collarbone, fingers tightening on his wrists. 

And he can see the effects of his own power on Baekhyun, too, his mark in goosebumps, raised hair, the network of splintering heat blooming pink across his trembling skin. Lust and longing and debilitating love and need need need course through his body once more. 

And Jongdae bumbles forward, a moth to the flame, or Icarus to the sun.

“Come here,” Jongdae whispers raggedly, protesting against Baekhyun’s hold, and Baekhyun lets him go, curls into the drag of clumsy fingers through his hair, along the nape of his neck, over his shoulders, lets himself be maneuvered. And Baekhyun melts back into the sheets for him, for his taking. All lean lines, flushed skin, delicious decadent desperation, he’s fucking _glowing_. Jongdae is briefly terrified to touch him, scared of marring him, stealing his light, or fracturing him with the force of his heavy want, or otherwise breaking this fragile and brilliant angelic being on his bed. Doesn’t want to ruin. Not, not by accident. Not in that way. 

Baekhyun reaches out first, dragging him until they’re touching forehead to forehead, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, so that Jongdae is burning and glowing and Baekhyun’s hair is standing on end, crackling with electrical currents of desperate need, too. 

Baekhyun’s breathing is labored, his eyes glassy. He drags his fingers over Jongdae’s mouth, exquisitely tender but clumsy, and Jongdae’s lips part. Baekhyun’s touched them before with his fingers, his lips, his cock, but there’s wonderment still like he can’t believe that Jongdae is his to love, to touch, to kiss, to take. He brushes them softly, with the most exquisite reverence before gliding forward clumsy and needy and hot. His kisses, moans, touches are hot and bright and dazzling from the start. And Jongdae loses himself once more. Kisses and touches like he means to have his fill and take and take and take. 

 

There are bursts of blinding white light when Jongdae reaches for his cock, and it’s so bright so beautiful that Jongdae can’t bear to look at him, dazed and dazzled. His eyes flutter shut, and his chest hitches, and Baekhyun’s breath tastes sweet and soft with ruin and need, too. 

Baekhyun moans, pushes into his touch, and he’s so hard but his skin so soft, silky smooth warmth pulsing on every shivering upstroke as Jongdae takes them both into his hold. He’s allowed four, five glides before Baekhyun is mouthing at his collarbone, sliding his hands down Jongdae’s body to take over. 

And his deceptively delicate, nimble, nimble fingers stroke in a way that has Jongdae’s toes curling, has the air outside rumbling violently. 

It’s easier like this, a closer press, a tighter fit, more heat, more ruin. A mounting urgency skittering through Jongdae’s body, trembling through Baekhyun’s, too. 

He can feel the wrecked desperation of Baekhyun’s response jerking weakly through his cock, blowing harsh against his open mouth, glowing pink across his closed eyelids. 

Baekhyun suckles at his bottom lip, pants into his mouth, and it’s building up to a roar beneath his skin, thick and hot and electric.And his cock pulses with every stuttering grind of Baekhyun’s hips, every dragging pull of his cock. 

Dizzy on the delicious friction, the gorgeous, fragile love burning bright between them, Jongdae moans helplessly into the warm, heaving column of Baekhyun’s throat, and Baekhyun’s fingers drag tighter, sloppier over his cock, tease at the head in that practiced, pointed, perfect way that has Jongdae stumbling closer, existence, everything outside of this moment fading away.

The room is crackling with electricity, their twin desires, powers intersecting and building and building and building, up up up, heavy heavy heavy, searing. 

Jongdae’s eyes sting through the explosions of blinding light. 

Turbulent and heated and violent and fervent and urgent and so fucking needy, so fucking fast, his desire slashes bright and through the angry sky, as Jongdae claws at Baekhyun’s back, anchors himself as his body trembles helplessly. 

It’s ruining. He’s ruined. He’s ruining. 

Baekhyun’s thumb drags along the slit of his cock, smearing the moisture there as he mouths at Jongdae’s sternum, and Jongdae’s body locks, his fingers curling into tight fists in Baekhyun’s dark hair, tugging his head sharply back to bite down hard on his neck. 

And the light finally blinds him. 

His hair stands on end, and the walls rattle, as Baekhyun jerks violently against him, coming hard, coming, too. 

The come down is nearly jarring. 

Jongdae breathes in shakily, swallowing past the receding sizzling violence and desperation, but the air is still thick and charged with it, still recovering, too. 

Beside him, breathless and beautiful, Baekhyun’s eyes are dazed and dark, his chest still heaving. His power and strength has been sapped, light and heat and dazzling radiance muted, but he’s still the brightest thing Jongdae’s ever see. And he looks at Jongdae like Jongdae’s the brightest thing he’s ever seen. 

Jongdae curls further into him automatically, raw magnetism or raw love or raw need, and oh, Jongdae would gladly let the flames consume him, would gladly melt his wax wings just to press closer, just to touch, see, taste, have more. But Baekhyun is pressing closer, too, raw magnetism or raw love or raw need, too. 

Jongdae touches the inside of his wrist, apologetic and reverent and assessing and soft over the blooming burns and raised skin, then the flushed column of his throat, his crinkled cheek. He rests on the tiny beautiful mole by his mouth, thumbing it absently as Baekhyun regards him.

“Hey,” Baekhyun says, his voice raspy and ruined with pleasure, ghosting over the inside of his wrist. And he's glowing again, smiling at him in that crooked way that makes Jongdae’s heart lurch painfully. Whimsical, sentimental, so so achingly so tender, Baekhyun kisses his eyebrows, his nose, the corner of his lip, before resting his forehead against his. 

“Hey,” Jongdae responds.

**Author's Note:**

> really truly *dj khaled* i changed a _lot_
> 
> just make sure your words are always sweet, so they go down easy when you eat them, kids


End file.
